


Transformation

by Trash_Baby



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dress Up, Established Relationship, F/M, One Shot, Reader-Insert, Red Dress, because y'all are hunting a vampire, but also to kill, dressed to impress, gotta dress the part, hunter reader, i guess, it's a really fucking nice dress, like blood, tomboy reader, y'all got a hunt at somewhere fancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 07:49:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7749322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash_Baby/pseuds/Trash_Baby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The three of you have a hunt to prepare for, and the location is a black-tie event. That means you have to dress the part. </p>
<p>(Guys it's such a nice fucking dress, like I legit wrote this one shot simply because I love this dress so much omfg)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transformation

You had never been a ‘girly girl’, even before you had been a hunter. No, for you, it had always been grass-stained jeans and plaid shirts, black over pink any day, your trusty combat boots rather than a pair of heels that you just _know_ you’ll will break your ankles in.

When you had first met the Winchesters, they chalked your boyish style up to you being a hunter, but as they got to know you, they found that at times you were more of a guy than they were. Not that they minded of course. In fact, it was endearing, and it was just one of the many reasons why Dean had fallen for you.

The two of you had been together for just over six months now, and during that time, you had become inseparable; you made a great asset to their team, and found that the three of you could finish cases much quicker now that there were more of you. Not only that, but it was a major help that you were of the ‘opposite gender’.

Being the girl of the team meant that you often had to ‘take one for the team’. In other words, you were bait 90% of the time. Not that you really minded - after all, you’re still helping out on the hunt, and you know how to defend yourself so it’s not that big a deal. 

What is a big deal, however, is when you have to _dress_ the part.

“Are you fucking serious, Dean? I’m _not_ wearing a dress!”

“Baby, I told you before, we’re not gonna be able to lure out this damn rogue vamp if you’re dressed like a trucker! Hell, the bar that we’re going to won’t even let you in looking like that, if me and Sam have to abide by the black tie dress code, then so do you!”

You snort, throwing your arms over your chest with a huff as you glare up at him. “I’m not dressed like a trucker. You are.”

Dean stares down at you, brow slowly furrowing before he mutters, “That doesn’t even make any sense.”

“Shut up, neither do your comebacks.” You grit out, gaze dropping from his face down to the shopping bag that was held in one of his hands. Letting out a deep sigh, you reach out and snatch the bag from his hand, glowering at it like it had personally offended you (to be honest, it kind of had). “”Get out then so I can get ready.”

He pouts down at you, letting go of the bag for you to drop onto the bed. “Aw, can’t I just stay and watch?” 

Your fierce glare quickly has him stumbling for the door, his hands raised in surrender as he leaves you alone. You make sure to wait a minute, just to be sure that he’s actually gone, before locking the door to get ready. 

Peering into the bag, another dramatic groan leaves you as you take stock of what Dean had bought for you. Reaching in, you pull out the first item - a dress. 

It was quite possibly the most extravagant thing you had ever seen, let alone owned. It was a strapless floor-length dress with a sweetheart neckline and a mermaid train, made from velvet in a deep burgundy that was an all too similar shade to blood. 

You stare at it for a moment, completely transfixed before you realize that you’ve been subconsciously stroking it. Dropping it onto the bed, you grab the next thing - a pair of heels. 

It’s inevitable - you groan. 

Naturally, Dean had chosen a pair of six-inch heels. They were simple black heels, with pointed toes and a stiletto heel, and you were already wincing at the thought of having to walk in them ( _oh, God, what if I have to **run** in them_ …) Inside the bag, you find a matching black clutch purse in the same material as the heels, just big enough to fit your phone, your Colt 1911 New Agent, and maybe that lipstick that you can see in the shopping bag …

Reaching in, you find a small bag filled with makeup - all of the basics and then some (because naturally, why would you own makeup?). You take the time to stare at everything for a moment before you get to work.

***

Two hours later and you’re just about ready to scream. 

You had showered, taking the time to wash _and_ condition your hair (conditioner was something you rarely used, so you had to borrow some from Sam), as well as shaving and applying a face mask. You had also groomed your eyebrows, something that brought tears to your eyes (how was it that you could take a stab wound without so much as breaking a sweat, yet when it came to plucking a hair it felt like you were about to pass out from pain?), and painted your nails a deep blood red to match the dress.

After the grooming stage came the makeup. You figured that you were bound to get makeup on the dress (something which you wanted to avoid; as much as you hated dresses, you just knew that if you ruined this one, you would probably cry), and so after putting on your underwear - all the while cursing your strapless bra - you got to work on applying it.

You were endlessly confused as to what should be applied first, but eventually got through it. You didn’t know what to make of the sensation of applying foundation, and just looking at the eyeliner made you queasy ( _how the hell am I supposed to make it look decent?! Eyeliner is an art-form that takes years to perfect!_ ). You had a run in with the mascara wand, nearly poking your own eye out, and you found that lining your lips required more concentration than necessary.

Finding a diamante hair comb in the shopping bag, you figured that it was necessary to style your hair, and took the time to put it up in a half french twist, sliding the comb into the twist for decoration and leaving the rest of your hair loose to frame your face and cascade down your back.

Finally came the dress.

It was the perfect fit - you would have to question Dean about that later -, hugging at your hips and curves, and the fabric felt amazing against your skin. By some sheer miracle, you managed to zip it up yourself, and with a quick prayer to no one in particular, you slipped into the heels without falling over. Grabbing the clutch, which you had filled before you had showered, you check yourself in the mirror before you unlock the door to find Dean.

Your heels click down the hall, the sound echoing. Your steps are confident, which is surprising considering the fact that you feel like you’re about to fall down and face-plant at any given moment, but either way, you swallow the fear and keep your head held high. Finally, after what feels like a mile, you stop at the door of the library. Peeking in through the gap, you see Sam and Dean, both dressed in sharp black suits, white shirts and black bow ties; Sam is slouched in a chair, relaxed, meanwhile Dean is pacing back and forth, the fabric of his suit jacket taut.

Swallowing at the sight, you take a deep breath before stepping up the stairs and pushing the door open fully to walk in. 

Sam glances up, and Dean immediately freezes, mouth opening to say ‘ _finally!_ ’, only for the word to die on his lips as he takes in the sight before him. ‘Stunning’ is an understatement. As Dean stares at you, pupils dilated and jaw slack, he struggles to come up with a word to describe you, anything to say to let you know just how beautiful, gorgeous, irresistible you look, however, nothing comes.

You’re stood in the doorway, arms by your sides, though your arms soon raise up to cross over your chest, self-conscious of how the eyes of both the Winchesters are pinned to you. 

Dean’s eyes drop from your face, where he had been captivated by the dark red lips that he was envisioning wrapping around his throbbing hard cock, to your chest, where your breasts were emphasized by the fold of your arms. Dean was instantly jealous of the figure-hugging fabric, desperate to rip it from your body and replace it with the contact of his own bare skin. 

“-ean? Dean, damn it, snap out of it, you perv!”

He blinks, jolting as he realizes that you were shouting at him. “What?” He asks dumbly, voice several octaves higher, and he clears his throat, cheeks flaming before he tries again. “What is it, sweetheart?”

You roll your eyes, hip cocking out to the side as you raise an eyebrow at him. “I said, when are we leaving?”

“Oh, uh, now.” He clears his throat, nodding, “Now.”

“Okay then, what are you waiting for?” You gesture for the door, and it’s then that Dean sees Sam, already waiting next to you, eyes still wide and glued to your frame. 

Dean’s eyes narrow, a glare darkening his features as jealousy floods his veins. “Keep your eyes off my girl, Sam.”

Sam glances up at Dean, and, seeing the threat in his eyes, he backs off with hands raised. “Whoa, calm down, Dean, Y/N’s like a sister to me. I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

“Why’re you surprised, huh? My girl’s beautiful with or without makeup and fancy clothes, there ain’t no reason to be lookin’ at her differently.” He grits out, standing next to you and reaching out to wrap an arm around your waist, tugging you slightly to lean against him.

Rolling your eyes, you slap lightly at his chest with the back of your hand before pulling away. “Then there’s no reason for you to be acting like an over-protective dog.” 

Dean pouts at you, the dominant flare leaving him as he stares at you with innocent eyes. You take a second to realize that with the heels on, you’re much closer to Dean’s eye level, and smirk victoriously. Suddenly, Dean’s eyes widen, and he holds up a finger before rifling through his inner jacket pocket.

“One second.” He mutters, before pulling out a small box. 

You’re completely baffled, and for one fleeting second, your stomach drops at the thought that inside that box could be a ring. Sam seems to share that thought with you, because he catches your eyes, shock flashing across his face before fading into understanding. 

Looking back to Dean, you see that it’s not a ring (you’re relieved to see that he’s not about to propose to you; you’d much rather that he propose to you at the end of a hunt, where you’d been tremendously badass and slaughtered a whole nest of vamps or something equally dramatic), but instead is a necklace and matching set of earrings.

The necklace is a simple silver chain with a single diamond pendent, and the earrings are silver drops with matching diamond pendents. Dean avoids eye contact as he takes the necklace from the box, closing it and placing it in your slack hand as he stands behind you to put it on.

“I know it’s nothing fancy,” He murmurs, sweeping your hair over your shoulder as he lifts the chain to do the clasp. “And I know you don’t wear jewelry, but I wanted to get you something, well, something nice, I guess …”

He trails off, hands settling on your shoulders for a moment before restyling your hair so that it trailed down your back again. He comes around to stand in front of you, his hand resting on your waist as he studies your expression, one of complete and utter shock. 

“Dean, I, I … Thank you.” You settle with, leaning forward to kiss him, unable to convey your gratitude in any other way. Pulling away, you smile at him before tilting your head in the direction of the door. “Shall we?”

“We shall.” He agrees, lifting his arm for you to interlink yours with. The two of you trail behind Sam, who was already halfway at the the garage. Out of hearing range, Dean takes a second to glance at his brother before leaning close to your ear and whispering, “I can’t wait to get back here so I can get you out of that dress and fuck you, because I can guarantee that no matter how beautiful you look right now, you’ll look even better naked on my bed.”

_Fuck_ …

“I look forward to it.” You whisper back, though you tighten your grip on his arm and pray that you don’t fall, because the words that Dean just whispered to you have turned your legs to jello.

In all, you’re rather grateful that the foundation you applied is hiding your blush, because you just know that if you were wearing no makeup right now, your face would be as red as your dress.

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted at - http://pie-is-deanlicious.tumblr.com/post/147911237070/transformation
> 
> the dress makes me wanna cry. I want it so bad.


End file.
